


Departures

by lilian_ariana



Category: Berlin Station (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Episode: S01E02 Lights Don't Run on Loyalty, Episode: S01E07 Proof of Life, Episode: S01E09 Thomas Shaw, Episode: S01E10 Oratorio Berlin, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilian_ariana/pseuds/lilian_ariana
Summary: 5+1: Five people Hector loses, in one way or another, during season 1 - and one he regains.





	1. Faisal

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little obsessed with this show. Scratch that, I'm a lot obsessed with this show. Have been ever since I started watching the first season when it came out. For the entire year since then, I've been watching and waiting, hoping that someone would write something more than a couple of drabbles. So far, noone has. In consequence, I've finally caved and hit the keyboard myself, because this show is awesome and it's awfully lonely in the fandom for reasons I fail to comprehend.

 

_1 – Faisal_

 

He's had a bad feeling all day.

 

Faisal wouldn't just miss a meeting, especially not _this_ meeting, their first after the hotel.

For reasons he refuses to admit to himself, Hector is nervous when he walks up the stairs of the safehouse, smoothing down his clothes and his hair, preening like he's going on a fucking date rather than to a routine meeting with an agent, purely for business.

 

Something's wrong, he can feel it in his bones.

 

He tries to play it down with Robert, pretends he's not worried, never mind that he's not fooling himself, much less anyone else.

 

Where is he? Why won't he answer the fucking phone?

 

Hector has seen enough shit to always expect the worst, so he follows his worst hunch. And sure as shit, there he is, looking grimly determined yet very much at home in the worst place he could possibly be, dancing on the edge of destruction, courting his own doom. What the fuck is going on?

 

Whatever this is, he needs a drink before having this conversation.

 

Something momentous has changed. He's never known Faisal to be this reckless, and he knows him far more intimately than he should. When Hector left the hotel, pulling his detachment back on along with his clothes, he left behind him a man who had finally found that elusive last piece of himself that had always been missing, who let him depart with a tender smile and a newfound sense of equilibrium, cautiously hopeful for the future. That man wished for many things, but certainly not for death.

 

Now, there's feverish despair in his eyes, soulcrushing pain and an unwavering determination to accept whatever grim fate lies in store for him if only he can keep Hector safe. One single time, a few stolen hours to let down the walls he'd built around his heart, and now he cannot, will not, pull them back up.

 

Hector never expected to care so much. As he walks away, seemingly accepting the sacrifice, he feels so terribly helpless.

 

He can fix this. There has to be a way. He'll go grovelling to Robert, much as he hates the idea, if that's what it takes. Except Robert doesn't give a shit. He dismisses the notion out of hand, caring about nothing and noone other than the goddamn fucking job.

 

This, if he needed any fucking reminder, is exactly the kind of thing that gave rise to Thomas Shaw.

 

When Robert slinks into the kitchenette a little later to give him the news, saying "I'm sorry" like it makes the least bit of difference, he's not even a little surprised. "Get the fuck out of my face", Hector replies quietly, because if he doesn't, he's liable to snap Robert's fucking neck.

 

What does come as a surprise is how much it hurts and how much it haunts him in the days and weeks to come.

 


	2. Clare

_2 – Clare_

 

The mission was a terrible, shitty, fucked up idea from the start, and even though he was right there, just meters away, he couldn't stop it when things went south.

 

The mall shot up, civilians dead, who the fuck cares about any of that? _Clare_ is missing, dragged off by that crazy terrorist bitch to fuck knows where, and everyone's just chasing their tails, trying to cover their asses, and none of it matters. They need to find her, _NOW_ , that's all that counts.

 

He's losing it. Going off the rails, fast.

 

Daniel's presence is a mere afterthought as he tears through the city in feverish pursuit of a clue, _any_ clue, like a man possessed. He's probably giving himself away in a hundred different ways right now, but he just can't bring himself to care. If all this brings out the worst in him, the parts of himself he's been trying to bury so deep they'll never see the light of day again, then so be it. As long as they find her, and bring her back alive, so be it.

 

They make it to the warehouse, but time is running out.

They need to move.

Move, move, move, faster.

 

He sees her, and then he sees the gun to her head. For a second his heart stops, then he's moving again, trying to get a shot. Daniel's talking, but it's just white noise. They're not all going to walk out of here, that's just not in the cards when you're dealing with fanatics.

 

It happens in the blink of an eye, Clare breaking free, the gunshot echoing through the empty room, and then she's in his arms.

 

Clare. Vibrant, beautiful, tough as nails Clare. She's a fighter, this one, right until the end. Smart, resourceful, snarky as hell, doesn't take shit from anyone. Nothing about her says "victim" – and yet, here they are.

 

He knows it's fatal, and so does she, struggling to make her final words heard. His name, and: "I'm sorry." Like she is the one to blame.

 

As her voice trails off, her body falls still, the light in her eyes goes dim and her blood soaks into his clothes, something inside him _snaps_.

 

Breaking Ruth Iosava's neck isn't nearly enough to repay her loss.

 


	3. Julian/Shirley

_3 – Julian/Shirley_

 

Julian has seen the worst of him. Has suffered at his hands, been broken almost to the core during months and months of systematic abuse delivered while mindlessly following orders, stripping away layer after layer of his own humanity in the process until they both hit rock bottom, laid bare to each other in the most visceral way. The pointlessness of it all, the horrible things they do in the name of so-called _truth_ and _justice_ , chips away at whatever shitty excuse for a soul he has left and hits him all at once. Letting Julian go, putting him on that boat and setting him free, is a desperate attempt at salvaging something, anything, from the fucked up mess he has become. It's not nearly enough, but at least they both get to walk – stumble – away from this hellhole.

From this day forward, Julian and _Thomas Shaw_ are inextricably linked in his mind.

 

Shirley has been his closest – his only – confidante since she swaggered into his life on killer heels, trailing hot pink glitter and glamour in her wake, two years ago. She is larger than life, loud and proud, and the last thing he expected that beaten, skeletal youth he sent on his way so long ago to turn into. The entire evening – Faisal, Shirley, _Julian_ – still seems so unreal in his mind. If putting Julian on the boat was the conception, that evening is the birth of Thomas Shaw. Together, they are invincible. They can change the world. Or at least, that's what Julian – Shirley – believes, looking at him with so much trust he has done nothing at all to deserve.

 

Their entire relationship is one fucked up unhealthy mess, some kind of Stockholm syndrome-esque, codependency shit he couldn't even begin to define. It – much like them – defies explanation, definition, fucking _sanity_.

 

The look in Julian's eyes when they finally make it up to Teufelsberg is something new. That devastating hopelessness and worse, _acceptance_ that all they have built, all they have done, has come to an end, is an expression more terrifying and painful than anything he saw during those darkest days in the harsh glare of the Morocco sun. The gunshot wound hurts, but it's nothing at all compared to the sheer agony that lances through him when Julian lets himself fall. After all this time, he's destroyed him at last, and it's enough to bring him to his knees. The ultimate defeat.

 


	4. Daniel

_4 – Daniel_

 

Their history began in Chechnya, more than a decade ago. A casual friendship, a solid partnership, a bond forged in blood and snow and a monumental fuck-up followed by an equally monumental cover-up that Daniel never thanks him for and Hector never forgets. _Brothers_ , for better or worse.

 

They were both different men then.

 

Their paths diverged, Hector's deep into darkness, Daniel's into comfortable obscurity and a desk job that never sat right.

 

Their paths re-crossed, and they have lied through their teeth, manipulated and double-crossed each other and played a game of cat and mouse in which they're both the cat and both the mouse ever since. _See you on the other side_.

 

Their history ends in Berlin, in an abandoned Cold War listening station with a body on the ground, a distraught relative nearby, and enemies closing in. A bond broken yet temporarily scraped back together by the tenuous notion of _the enemy of my enemy is the lesser enemy right now_.

 

_You win, game over_.

 

Hector is defeated, resigned to facing the consequences of his actions that are, to his mind, the least of all the terrible things he has done. Daniel lets him go. He probably feels all noble about it too.

Hector will never thank him for it and Daniel will never forget.

 

Hector walks away without looking back, and Daniel is left to pick up the pieces.

 


	5. Hector

_5 – Hector_

 

Hector DeJean is many things: jaded, cynical, dangerous, supremely charming when he wants to be, a master manipulator beaten at his own game, with a dodgy moral compass at best.

 

The best of the best and the worst of the worst.

 

A broken man, in so many different ways.

A friend, a lover, a brother in arms. A survivor. A liar, a killer, and a traitor.

 

He's worn a dozen masks, played a dozen roles, broken a dozen laws.

 

Hector DeJean walks into a bank in Geneva, collecting his exit strategy, his survival kit squirrelled away for when all else fails.

A man walks out of a bank in Geneva, but he's not Hector DeJean anymore.

 

Hector DeJean is done, hightailing it out of Berlin as everything around him falls to pieces, gone – as far as anyone knows – to crawl into some hidden corner and lick his wounds, never to emerge again.

 

Michael Scheel, on the other hand, is a man on a mission with one last card to play.

 


	6. Faisal, Revisited

_6 – Faisal, Revisited_

 

Michael Scheel from the Director's office walks briskly across the airstrip radiating confidence and power. He's a man who is used to being obeyed and getting what he wants. He will not be questioned and no obstacle will stand in his way. He marches into the ambassador's office like it belongs to him, proffering his forged White House paperwork and stating his business in a tone and manner that brook no refusal.

 

So far, so good.

 

It's an audacious plan, a crazy plan, and even he's not sure it'll work. But desperate times require desperate measures, and if there's one thing the man who currently calls himself Michael Scheel is right now, it's desperate. He failed to save Clare. He failed to save Julian. He's not going to fail again.

 

It's out of his hands now. He's played his role to a tee, delivered his carefully crafted documents and explanations, and now all that's left to do is wait. 

 

He's back on the jet, itching to leave. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he drops the Michael Scheel persona and relaxes back into himself. James will handle the handover, it's one of the main reasons Michael Scheel brought along a subordinate with no investment in the proceedings – to ensure that nothing goes wrong at the last minute. Michael Scheel feels nothing but disdain for the prisoner he's come to retrieve, and he can't afford to let Hector DeJean's worry and caring shine through where someone might see.

 

As the car pulls up, the prisoner is pulled out and the last bit of requisite paperwork signed, he watches closely from above, expression hidden behind dark shades. Almost there. James leads his charge carefully up the steps.

 

The prisoner moves cautiously when they enter the cabin, unsure of his surroundings and what to expect when James guides him to a seat and pulls the bag off his head before turning to leave them alone. 

 

Faisal's eyes need a moment to adjust to sudden brightness after the dark, his attention jumping from corner to corner as he shakes off the disorientation, takes in the interior of the plane, the back of an unknown man heading towards the cockpit, and finally the man sitting across from him. As it slowly sinks in where he is, who he is with, what seems to be happening, Hector begins to smile, watching a dizzying array of emotions flicker across Faisal's face:

 

Trepidation – confusion – disbelief – astonishment –  _JOY_

 

"You came for me", Faisal says softly, and his tone carries a curious mixture of 'I can't believe you did that' and 'I never doubted you for a second', both in equal measure.

 

"I'm sorry it took me so long", Hector replies, reaching across to cover one of Faisal's slim hands with his own, brushing a calloused thumb over his knuckles in a fleeting caress before withdrawing his hand and leaning back in his seat, his smile never wavering. It's a minor miracle, and he has made it happen.

 

Neither of them feels the need to fill the comfortable silence, but they continue to hold each other's gaze. Between their mirrored smiles stretches a promise of endless possibilities.

 


End file.
